


Good Enough

by LostRose0



Category: Pocket Mortys, Rick and Morty
Genre: Abandonment, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Arguing, Bitterness, Bonding, Citadel of Ricks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e01 The Rickshank Rickdemption, Explicit Language, Female Morty Smith, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hate to Love, Hatred, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know if platonic or romantic yet, Language, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, These two are my babies, Think Last of Us but with Rick and Morty, To ship or to not ship that is the question, bad language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 09:46:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12932667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostRose0/pseuds/LostRose0
Summary: Pre-Season 3, Before the "The Rickshank Rickdemption" Episode.Commander Rick Sanchez of the Citadel's Militia is used to being alone. It's comfortable. It's safe. Or so he thought.When the Citadel of Ricks is attacked by the Galactic Federation, he is forced to forsake his solitude and choose a Morty from the recruitment program to hide his brain waves.Why did he choose the bitter one with boobs? He wouldn't be able to tell you. It may be because she's rare. Or maybe it's the fact that they've both lost something.Or it may be all a mistake.Commander Rick and Morticia Smith can barely stand to look at each other, much less be permanently bonded as eachother's Rick and Morty, but, hey.It's worth a shot, right?





	Good Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my sister, Sam, for proof-reading this chapter and giving me inspiration to push forth! Love you!

_‘Pick it up, pick it all up._ _  
_ _And start again._

_You've got a second chance,_

_You could go home._ _  
_

_Escape it all,_

_It’s just irrelevant._ _  
_ _It’s just medicine.’_

_~ "Medicine" by Daughter_

 

My voice is locked in the cage that is my throat. I try to swallow back the lump that has formed on my parched vocal cords, only to find that my mouth is just as dry. The color has long since drained out of my face, but right now, I can particularly feel how cold it is.

The love of my life lay in a pristine glass coffin before me, reaching out for my touch.

I wish this was just some messed-up fairy tale, and I could simply open it. In a perfect world, I could just waltz right over. Be her knight in shining fucking armor and wake my wife with true love’s kiss.

 

But this isn’t a perfect world. And fairy tales are myths.

 

I can see it in her tear-filled eyes that she doesn’t have much left in her. She’s fading.

She coughs, and I flinch as blood splatters against the walls of the vat she's confined in. She gasps desperately for air every few seconds, but it’s not working and I can feel it.

 

“The tainted O2 we have provided for your wife is refusing to concentrate in her lungs. It’s breaking them down, piece by piece. Quite frankly, she’s drowning in her own blood.”, the alien bastard says. The coolness in his voice makes me want to puke. “If you keep fighting us like this, rather than simply giving us the mathematical equation to make the portal gun, your wife will run out of time.”

  
  
I feel nervous stutters grip my words as I try to understand what this maniac wants. “P-Portal gun? I have n-no idea-”

He interrupts me, apparently not accepting what I had to say. “Don’t play coy with me, General Sanchez. We have footage of you coming and going through a portal, spawned by that gun.”

That caught my attention. Lifting my gaze from Diane, I began to ask, “General? How the hell-”  
  
He interrupted me once again, reading the clipboard in his hands. He began to list off my past, “Enlisted in 20XX, after your ‘rocker’ days. Served four tours in Iraq, received your medal of honor when you led troops to take down a major terrorist group. Got married to Diane shortly after returning home from active duty. We know everything about you. We also know that you have been seen using a multidimensional portation device. We want it. See a pattern?”  
  
I open my mouth quickly to protest, “I don’t know what y-you are talking about! You said it yourself, I'm military. I-I’m not a damn scientist!”  
  
“R...ick…”, Diane’s voice was muffled through the glass, but I could feel the despair from a mile away.

 

My wife’s lips form my name, and I instinctively run over to her. When I do, an invisible barrier sends an electric jolt through me and forces me backwards onto the ground.  
  
“Motherfucker!”, I curse as my wife shakily reaches out for me again, her fingers grazing the capsule, before she goes into a coughing fit. Her face is beginning to pale. “This can all stop, Rick.”, my interrogator presses. “Just give us what we want. We don’t want to make your wife suffer any more than she has to.”

 

“Listen here, fuck face-” My words are halted as I hear my wife cry out, wheezes gripping her breath.

 

“I wouldn’t retaliate if I were you, General. I do not wish to force the code out of you, but if you keep us waiting… Sadly, your wife will smother to death. And her blood will be on your hands.”

* * *

“Aahk-” I bolt upwards from my slumber and cough violently. I snort a few times as I hack, trying to rid my airways of moisture. When the spell passes, I wipe water from my eyes. Whether the tears are caused from my own spit going down my windpipe, or the dream - I don't want to know. I take a deep breath before I refocus my thoughts on my surroundings. Where the hell am I again?

 

I look around at the room and try to make sense of it. There’s no steel bars, nor am I confined in any way, so I’m not in a prison. I think. Whatever, doesn't matter.

 

The room itself is barren and void of any sentimental items such as photographs. I’m sitting at a desk in a small, solitary room, with filing cabinets sitting to the right of me. Is this an office?

 

A simple light with a green lampshade sits on the wooden desk, not doing very much to brighten up the dark room. Along with the lamp there is what appears to be… A captain's hat?

 

I run a gloved hand through my hair that’s slick with sweat as everything falls into place.

 

I remember…. This is _my_ office and that is _my_ ‘captain’s hat’. My name is Rick Sanchez. I am from Earth Dimension E-910, and I am the Commander in Chief for the Citadel of Rick’s Militia. My Morty is…. Is….  
  
Shit. I can’t remember. What Morty do I have? Where the fuck is my Morty?  
  
I search my mind and try to grasp onto a memory of my grandson. I try and retrace my steps from before I dozed off while doing paperwork. I give up when an intense pain pulses through my skull. I groan before I feel something warm drip from my nose. I lift my fingers up to the source, then retract my hand to find a hint of crimson on my black glove. I can’t help but laugh bitterly when I realize my stupid error.

  
  
“Right, I f-forgot… I don’t have a Morty.....”

 

A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I reach into my coat pocket for my handkerchief. The thick maroon liquid stains the blue fabric as I clean under my nostrils. I sniffle one last time before stuffing my hand back into my coat, replacing the cloth with my steel flask. I refuse to contemplate anymore, willing that this liquid numb the pain as it always had.  
  
I take a swig and savor the burn down my throat. When I want to forget, I want the burn to be worse, and I _always_ want to forget.

 

I put my flask away. Before I can form another thought, a deafening alarm starts blaring through my office. I nearly jump out of my chair, putting my hands over my ears briefly until my head stopped pulsing.

 

The alarm quiets down for a moment as a short, catchy tune is played over the P.A. system. Afterwards, a female automated voice is heard. “Please remain calm. Due to a classified emergency, a curfew is now active. Do not panic. All non-security personnel must return to their homes. Lock the doors. Close the blinds. Do not come out until the council deems it safe. We do _not_ apologize for any inconvenience caused. This message was brought to you by The Council of Ricks. ‘Your future, Rickified.’”

 

The loudspeaker resounds as it shuts off. I roll my eyes at the announcement. The council are so full of shit.

 

The mechanical door to my office whirrs open as a Guard Rick enters. I squint at the harsh light that floods in from the sterile white hall. “What’s going on, soldier?”, I question, my voice slipping into a more serious tone.

 

“We’ve got a breach, sir. An unidentified Rick in Dimension X-537 has somehow tracked the Citadel and opened a damn portal f-for the Galactic Federation.”

 

I say nothing as we stare at eachother.

 

“You've g-gotta be shitting me.”

 

I say this skeptically. This isn’t the first time some dickhead thought it would be a good idea to prank me. Guess what? It’s not.

  
“I-I-I’m afraid not, sir.” I watched as he shifted nervously from one foot to the other. I’ve been in the Military long enough to know body language to know when someone is lying, and it only takes me a moment to realize that he’s truly panicked.

 

“You’re not kidding.”, I state, my eyes wide. He shook his head to confirm it, which led to my next line of thought. “The Galactic Federation crossed dimensions!? Fuck that -eaurg- other me!”

 

He respectfully spoke, “It's true. I’m here to escort you to the Command Centre. The grid has gone dark. Our men need orders but, the radio is down.”

 

“All these genius versions of us everywhere, and we don't have a more reliable communication method than _radio?_ ”

 

“Some fancy-ass quantum entanglement radio but, yeah. You know us.”

I remove the laser pistol from my thigh-holster, before commenting dryly, “So, we have an interdimensional shitstorm, and all the science-Ricks can do is wring their hands and call us?”

 

He laughs at that, “Looks that -uueerp- way.” He leaves the room, motioning for me to follow him out into the hall.

* * *

 

The chaos that the guard mentioned is indeed present among the streets of the Citadel, but I am grateful to see that more than just a few heeded the announcement made earlier. It’s certainly not as bad as I thought, and a cake walk compared to my tours in Iraq. We dealt with any grophlomites we encountered skillfully, and so far we remain unscathed.

 

Though I try to keep focused on the task at hand, I can’t ignore the screams of the injured citizens. It’ll be up to us to establish contact with Medical and get Nurse Ricks out here. At least a laser wound is instantly cauterized, right?

 

We transversed the space station with haste. For a few places, we had to go directly through buildings and people’s homes to make better time. I just hoped it would be worth it as we neared the tram station that would take us straight inside to the Comm room.

 

The guard that has been accompanying me walks into the security booth and powers on the holographic interface that acts as it's computer. I watch as he punches in a code into the display, and within seconds, the tram is called to us. I signal for him to take cover. We don't know what will step out when that train arrives. We hide on opposite sides of the waiting area, sitting behind the steel ticket machines. Holding our breaths, we prepare for the worst.

 

The train only takes a minute to arrive, and the doors smoothly separate afterwards. I breathe easier when I see a robotic Rick followed by a Morty dressed in a strawberry costume depart from the train. They appear to be unharmed, and only the Rick appears to be in distress, yelling something about a ‘Run-time error’ repeatedly. I keep watching to make sure they escape the area safely before we leave.

 

Once they are out of sight, the guard and I quickly enter the train. He closes the doors after we secure the area. Again, he pulls up the glowing security panel, and types in a code. He sets the Command Centre as the destination, and we set off.

 

The next few hours go by in a blur as we do our jobs. We reconnect with the places that matter: The Council, The Guard Ricks, our Medical sector. Time crawls on as I give them reports of what I had seen, and in return, they provide reports of their own. It’s bland, and I find myself sounding more like a recording with each passing second that I talk to these people.

 

This isn't what my job usually entails. Most of the time, I roam the militia arc freely and just keep an eye on things. My job is to observe as much as I can, then give orders and advice based on what I found. It doesn't take much looking to tell that the “genius” Ricks practically spit on my position because of the fact that I don't have the same education as them. Although, the guards seem look up to me. Any military oriented Rick seems to respect me in one way or another for my experience.

 

I'm a fucking grandpa to the grandpas.

 

I should be called Grandpa Prime. Hell Yeah!

 

Once I was finished with my work, and I have given orders to the guards, a worker in the room got my attention. “Sir, Members of the council are here. They wish to speak with you.” I felt momentary fear wash over me, but it was gone in a few seconds. If they were firing me, they would call me to them; They wouldn't come to me. “Of course.”, I cough out. “Send them in.”

 

The worker salutes before opening the doors to let the council inside the room.

 

And here they come, the ‘Ricks to rule them all’.

 

Six versions of myself walk in as if they should have white doves released behind them. Prim and proper, they wear pristine white robes accessorized with golden pins of the symbol that means they're in charge and can kill you if you insult their flashy hair styles. In my opinion, their perfectly groomed hair is to compensate for smaller attributes.

 

The council has always been too fake for my tastes… I may look bitchin’ in my dress blues, but I have no illusions about myself. I am a soldier, just a tired one that has worked my ass off so I can smell like soap _and_ alcohol.

 

They, on the other hand, think all others should worship the ground they walk on because they have the ability to give orders.

 

High and mighty bastards.

 

The spokesman for the group, a version of myself known as ‘Riq IV’, stepped forward to address me in a formal tone. “Commander.” I nearly make myself sick as I cross my arm across my chest in a salute and bow my head to them. “We have received information regarding this terror-Rick that had tracked our dimension. We’ve arrested him and he is being tried for treason, but we need make sure that this doesn't happen again. Tell us, have you been having any nightmares lately?”

 

The image of my wife's drained expression flashes in my mind, and my head thrums with pain. Riq IV has his answer simply from the grimace on my face. “Hmm. How often?”

 

“Every night for about a month, now.”, I reply honestly. If I lied, this would take forever. I want to go home already and drink. My healthy daily routine.

 

“That's what we thought.” He sighed and shook his head. “E-910, I’m going to be straight with you. It is your fault that we were located.”

 

That took me by surprise. “How so, sir?”

 

“The only way a terror-Rick could track us is to search for the brainwaves of a Rick on the station. Even then, there would be a chance that he would pick a Rick who leaves frequently - Which would give the galactic federation a false read for a different dimension. He would have to pick someone who is sure to reside here permanently. Someone with a incredibly high level of authority. You, for example.”

 

It made sense, but how did this lead to me? It could be anyone with high clearance. I thought for a few minutes. “I still don't understand. Why would it be me? You said in your political speech just last week that higher-up Ricks’ brain waves were safe.”

 

The Rick with long hair, whatever his fancy-shmancy name is, replied for the group, “Yes, because we assumed that any Ricks who have over V - level clearance are in possession of a Morty.”

 

“A Morty? What do Mortys have to do with brain waves?”

 

Riq IV seems to get irritated as he deadpans, “Look, even though you are not a science-oriented Rick, you share the same brain waves as one. Beside a select few, Mortys are generally dumb. When dumb brain waves are near genius ones, they hide each other. That's how the Citadel stays hidden. You are the only Rick of Class X authority that has refused to be accompanied by a Morty and therefore have compromised the integrity of the Citadel. It’s why you have been having nightmares. Your brain waves have been exposed to every Rick beyond this dimension!”

 

Resisting the urge to grind my teeth at the thought of having a ball of angst follow me around, I ask bitingly, “With _all the respect I can give_ , my council, I’ve never seen any of _you_ with a Morty.”  
  
“Are you sure about that? Think about it, we are constantly in and out of the court rooms dealing with Ricks and Mortys. We are constantly surrounded by Mortys at all times while delivering judgment, and the rare moments we aren’t - Let’s just say Lawyer Morty has enough dumb to go around. His two brain cells seem to go towards his pog collection.”

 

The Rick with an afro, Quantum Rick, I think he’s called, continues to explain in a condescending tone. “You, however, have isolated yourself from having any contact with M-Mo-our-rrtys.” I shrug my shoulders and speak loosely, “What can I say? I don’t like kids.”

 

The leader shook his head again before asking me, “Commander, have you at least  spoken  to a Morty before?”

 

I swallow, thinking hard on my answer. “...Once, sir. On the phone.”

 

Members of the council collectively seem to face-palm, or the equivalent of that with exasperated expressions.  “Exactly my -urrp- point.” Riq IV seems to step forward from the group, and place his hands behind his back in a professional stance that is usually my own. Something’s about to go down.

 

“Commander Rick, by the authority of the Council of Ricks, you are hereby ordered to go to the Morty Recruitment Centre and choose a Morty to be permanently assigned to you within a week.”

 

Well. Shit.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and please stay tuned for more coming soon!


End file.
